But there is a silent sorrow,

Which can find no vent in speech,
Which disdains relief to borrow

From the heights that song can reach.

Like a clankless chain enthralling,--
Like the sleepless dreams that mock,-
Like the frigid ice-drops falling
From the surf-surrounded rock ;-

Such the cold and sickening feeling Thou hast caused this heart to know, -Stabbed the deeper, by concealing, From the world, its bitter woe!

Once it fondly--proudly, deemed thee

All that fancy's self could paint;
Once it honoured and esteemed thee,

As its idol and its saint!

More than woman thou wast to me ;Not as man I looked on thee;

Why, like woman, then undo me!

Why heap man's worst curse on me!

Wast thou but a fiend, assuming
Friendship's smile and woman's art,
And, in borrowed beauty blooming,
Trifling with a trusting heart!

By that eye which once could glisten
With opposing glance to me ;—

By that ear which once could listen
To each tale I told to thee ;-

By that lip, its smile bestowing,
Which could soften sorrow's gush ;-
By that cheek, once brightly glowing
With pure friendship's well-feign'd blush ;—

By all those false charms united,

Thou hast wrought thy wanton will,

And, without compunction, blighted

What thou would'st not kindly kill!

Yet I curse thee not, in sadness,-
Still I feel how dear thou wert;
Oh! I could not-e'en in madness--
Doom thee to thy just desert!

Live!—and, when my life is over,
Should thine own be lengthened long,
Thou may'st then, too late, discover,
By thy feelings-all my wrong!

When thy beauties all are faded,-
When thy flatterers fawn no more,—
Ere the solemn shroud hath shaded
Some regardless reptile's store,-

STANZAS.

Ere that hour,-false syren, hear me !—
Thou may'st feel what I do now,
While my spirit, hovering near thee,
Whispers friendship's broken vow!

But-'tis useless to upbraid thee
With thy past or present state ;--
What thou wast-my fancy made thee!
What thou art-I know too late!

105

TO THE OWL.

The following splendid lines were written in reference to a murder, whose details, somewhat disgustingly, occupied the public mind, two years ago. We regret that we are not at liberty to attach to them the name of the author.

OWL! that lovest the boding sky!

In the murky air,—

What sawest thou there?

For I heard, through the fog, thy screaming cry!

"The maple's head

Was glowing red,

And red were the wings of the autumn sky;

But a redder gleam

Rose from the stream

That dabbled my feet, as I glided by !''

Owl! that lovest the stormy sky!
Speak, oh! speak!-

What crimsoned thy beak,

And hung on the lids of thy staring eye? ""Twas blood, 'twas blood!

And it rose like a flood,

And for this I screamed, as I glided by !

Owl! that lovest the midnight sky!
Again, again,

Where are the twain ?

Look! while the moon is hurrying by!

"In the thicket's shade

The one is laid ;—

You may see, through the boughs, his moveless eye!"

Owl! that lovest the darkened sky!

A step beyond,

From the silent pond

:-

There rose a low and a murmuring cry :"On the water's edge,

Through the trampled sedge,

A bubble burst, and gurgled by;

My eyes were dim,

But I looked from the brim,

And I saw, in the weeds, a dead man lie!"

Owl! that lovest the moonless sky!

Where the casements blaze

With the faggot's rays,